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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26446630">Erosion</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentReverie/pseuds/MalevolentReverie'>MalevolentReverie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>MalRev’s Short Stories [35]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Complete, Darkfic, Demon Deals, Demon Kylo Ren, F/M, Inspired by Stephen King, Master/Pet, Monthly Prompt, Needful Thing, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fill, Punishment, Sensory Deprivation, Spooky, Supernatural Elements, sigh, three shot, which tbh is just a regular short story, why am i like this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:54:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,715</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26446630</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentReverie/pseuds/MalevolentReverie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Rey is a struggling writer who is offered a lucky typewriter by a strange man in an antique shop.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>MalRev’s Short Stories [35]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1201513</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>96</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>531</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurderOfCrowss/gifts">MurderOfCrowss</a>.</li>

        <li>
          Translation into Русский available: 
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498686">Эрозия</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tersie/pseuds/Tersie">Tersie</a>
        </li>


    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is for my monthly one shot series and is a prompt from the giftee!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>February has been a more difficult month than usual for Rey. Lonely. Dreary.</p><p>Then a nor’easter sweeps through Buffalo on Valentine’s Day and buries the city in almost four feet of snow. Work closes, the streets close, but her landlord still comes around to demand she pay him early. Unkar. He’s one of the biggest reasons why this year has so far seemed particularly miserable.</p><p>The day after the storm the sidewalks and streets are mostly plowed, hefting metric tons of snow into fragile packed mounds several feet high. Rey ventures outside that cold afternoon to see if all the pictures on Facebook are accurate—and they <em>are. </em></p><p>She steps carefully down to the sidewalk, gaping at the walls of snow around her. Her office job has been closed for a handful of days due to the streets being impassable, and after using the last of her paycheck to cover rent, Rey has been trapped inside alone since Monday. Only three days. Feels like a lifetime.</p><p>But February feels a little less dreary as she meanders through the snow. The loneliness is still there, amplified by the way snow muffles sound. It’s the middle of the day and the streets are empty, sidewalks quiet. Only a snowplow sloshes down the road, banking a slushy brown mess on the cleared sidewalk, rotating orange light quickly fading.</p><p>Rey sprinkles salt on her apartment’s steps to help out her neighbors, then decides to go for a walk downtown. She moved to Buffalo from Utah in hopes of finding a career as a journalist but thus far it’s been slim pickings and she had to settle for a typical soul-sucking data entry job. It’s hard to find passion in typing meaningless data all day.</p><p>But it’s work, at least.</p><p>Her boots crunch on ice and salt and snow as she makes her way through the maze of snow. Her jacket is a little thin for the weather but money has been tight and she isn’t in a place to invest in a three hundred dollar winter coat. This is good enough. It’s only a fifteen minute walk to work.</p><p>Rey finds most shops are closed—this is one of her first trips to the shopping district and it’s disappointing her understandable. She shivers, peering in glass windows and checking times to add to her phone for a return trip. Antiques are fun, and there’s a small book store. She’ll have to remember to go there instead of Barnes &amp; Noble.</p><p>As she ambles toward the end of a narrow street, Rey finds an open antique store.</p><p>She’s balling her fists in her pockets to keep the cold at bay while she checks the hours on the door. Lights are all on and she thinks she sees the shadow of a man inside but she doesn’t want to be rude and bust in if he’s not open. She hesitates, then decides to give the door a try.</p><p>It opens. A bell jingles, heat prickling on her nose, and Rey quickly closes the door behind her to keep the cold from coming in. Heat is expensive.</p><p>The store is small and cluttered with stuff: old table runners and empty watering cans, some signs that say HOME or FARM in different lettering. They’re hanging on the walls and leaned on the sides of cabinets filled with more tchotchkes; mostly old junk from estate sales, probably. Typical of an antique store in upstate New York, Rey has noticed.</p><p>She wanders through the cramped store admiring things as she passes, and reaches a narrow hallway that leads to an even smaller room of junk. Rey smiles when she sees an old Raggedy Ann doll resting in a green cabinet, and her gaze sweeps along the knickknacks on the walls to a small typewriter sitting on a table in the corner of the room.</p><p>It’s beautiful. She moves closer to investigate, amazed by the good condition it’s in for seeming to be an old typewriter. The body is black and the keys are suspended and red, each clearly marked with a letter or punctuation. It’s nice and compact, too, which would be great for her small fingers.</p><p> “Are you a collector, Miss?”</p><p>Rey turns when she hears the deep voice behind her—there’s a tall man standing in the hall entrance, hands clasped behind him, head tilted. He looks a few years older than her twenty-two and has black hair that brushes his shoulders. He’s pale, thick in the arms and shoulders with a long face and sharp features.</p><p>Something makes her nervous. He’s dressed nicely in a turtleneck and jeans and she <em>shouldn’t </em>be nervous, she figures, but he’s vaguely unsettling.</p><p>Rey smiles, shrugging and shaking her head. “I’m not, sorry. It’s beautiful, though.”</p><p> “Yes—it’s a one-of-a-kind piece. Lucky, supposedly.” He smiles back. “My name is Kylo. What’s yours?”</p><p> “Uh… I’m Rey. Niima.”</p><p>It feels rude not to shake so Rey walks over to do so, but Kylo politely holds up his hand.</p><p> “Germaphobe,” he says, “but I appreciate the gesture. Are you a writer, Miss Niima?”</p><p> “In theory.” She laughs and looks back longingly at the typewriter. “In practice… not so much.”</p><p>A lucky typewriter, huh? Interesting. It’s very pretty, for sure. Rey finds it hard to look away from the thing, like it’s calling her, and she wishes she hadn’t paid for her dishwasher to get fixed last month.</p><p>Kylo walks around her, surprisingly quiet for such a large man. He runs his thick fingers along the keys.</p><p> “Are you a creative writer?” he asks.</p><p> “Well I went to Stony Brook for journalism but I really want to write my own novel. I have a couple ideas. Not that they’re really worth much.”</p><p> “Oh, I’m sure they are.” He glances at her. “Maybe you just need a little luck.”</p><p> “Unfortunately I’m flat broke. Maybe next month I can swing it—”</p><p> “I could loan it to you.”</p><p>Rey frowns. Loan it? To her?</p><p>Kylo raises his eyebrows, studying her, and smiles once more. He draws his finger along the front of the typewriter while Rey tries to formulate a sentence.</p><p> “It’s okay,” she says hastily. “I wouldn’t want to put you out.”</p><p> “It’s not problem.” His index finger taps on the six key. “Just return it to me when you’re famous, Miss Niima.”</p><p> “Really, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure it’s very valuable.”</p><p> “Oh yes, it is—but I see more value in people than in objects.”</p><p>It’s too generous. She can’t possibly accept.</p><p>But Kylo continues to gently insist, and he safely packages up the typewriter for her at the cash register. She can’t help her excitement and switches from pleading with him to keep it to thanking him profusely. It’s very generous. She’ll be sure to return it when she’s famous—or in a couple months. Whichever comes first. She won’t keep it forever.</p><p> “Just remember,” Kylo repeats, “to return it to me when you’re famous, dear. I have to share it with the next aspiring writer.”</p><p> “Right, right.” She nods, beaming. “As soon as I’m famous.”</p><p>He offers his hand for a shake, smiling. Even a germaphobe probably appreciates an old-fashioned handshake to seal the deal.</p><p>So Rey shakes his hand. His grip is tight but not painful, and his palm feels sort of clammy and smooth. It’s fine—she’s sure her hands are sweating like crazy right now. A cold, excited shiver passes through her before she lets go.</p><p> “Enjoy.” Kylo pushes the bag toward her. His dark eyes pick up some reflected red from an old painted watering can. “And remember our deal, Miss Niima.”</p><p>Rey thanks him a couple more times. She asks for a number but he assures her he’ll still be in the same spot when the time comes.</p><p>Then she leaves, hugging her new typewriter to her chest. Maybe February isn’t so bad. Things are looking up.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sigh i have to do a third chapter for porn sorry I’m like this</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After that, things keep looking up.</p><p>It’s easy for Rey to lose hours on the typewriter weaving stories. They come to her while she writes and they’re gone as soon as she lifts her fingers from the keys, so she spends all her waking hours tapping away each fleeting idea that worms into her mind.</p><p>Time passes in a blur. Unkar eases off on her rent and she gets a promotion at work—she shares one of her stories with a coworker, who happens to have a cousin in publishing. It’s a romance and seems silly to Rey but she gets a call the following day.</p><p>Then the momentum can’t be stopped.</p><p>—•—</p><p> “Um… yeah, pink flowers sound fine.”</p><p> “You don’t sound super convinced, Rey.”</p><p>Three years pass in a flash. Rey sits before her typewriter in her study in a new million dollar house; a pipe dream when she was twenty-two somehow became reality. It’s hard to comprehend sometimes—hard to think of herself as a best-selling author.</p><p>She types while her fiancé, Finn, asks her about yet another wedding detail she doesn’t care to think about. He’s sweet and caring and she’s happy to marry him, but she fully meant it when she told him he could take over planning the <em>entire </em>wedding. None of that matters much to Rey. She’s never been one for decorum or tradition.</p><p>She rubs her eyes, shrugging. “I do really like the pink. It’ll match your tie.”</p><p> “Roses, maybe? I don’t know.” Finn sighs. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be a pain.”</p><p> “You’re never a pain.”</p><p>He laughs and she smiles. It’s dark in the study but the keys light up, so she can always carry on writing anyway. Her next manuscript is due soon and she likes to have them done a few weeks in advance, which is very rarely a problem for her.</p><p>People often ask what her secret is—how she manages to write so quickly and creatively and at a high standard. She smiles and says it’s thanks to using a typewriter, which usually brings an incredulous response. <em>A typewriter? Really?</em></p><p>Rey’s fingers drift along the keyboard as she tunes out from Finn again. She’s tried writing in other ways: word processors and notepads and even different typewriters. Her gift has a strange power over her, and the ideas and words flow so smoothly. It’s like magic.</p><p> “Well, I’ll let you go.”</p><p>She realizes she’s drifted off and tries to apologize. Finn says a halfhearted ‘love you’ and hangs up.</p><p>Ugh. Shit.</p><p>Rey sighs and sets down her phone, leaning back in her chair to stretch her arms. Her house is quiet and dark; one of those old sprawling estates from the nineteenth century that’s been tastefully restored. There’s even a garden out back near a small pond, which Finn intends on taking care of.</p><p>She ambles to the kitchen for a cup of tea. Her Maine Coon, Solembum, emerges from the living room when she flicks the light on. He’s huge and shaggy brown and very vocal when he wants a snack.</p><p>He sits at her feet and meows. Rey raises her eyebrows, smiling as she opens an overhead cabinet.</p><p> “You just had dinner, Bum Bum.”</p><p>Solembum cocks his head and meows again.</p><p>She finds her favorite mint tea and the bag of cat treats in the next cabinet. Solembum swirls in a circle, meowing until he gets his treat, then he leaves Rey to make her tea in peace. He’ll probably go shred the new couch—his favorite hobby.</p><p>Rey takes her tea out to the living room to sit and watch television for a bit before bed. She’s getting married next month, which is crazy. Met Finn just before signing her first book deal two years ago and he’s been by her side ever since.</p><p>More of a friend than a lover, though. He’s religious and wants to wait until they’re married, which is fine. He’s a nice guy. Safe.</p><p>HGTV has reruns of <em>House Hunters </em>and Rey settles in to watch, alone in the darkness. It doesn’t bother her. She’s usually hunched over her typewriter most nights plugging away until the wee hours—</p><p>The doorbell rings. Rey blinks, straightening and frowning. It’s nine PM and she has a gated driveway.</p><p>She opens her security app to check the camera, still watching the door for a second before looking. The porch light is on but there’s no one there except the big ficus she bought two weeks ago.</p><p>Moths flutter around the light, casting fleeting shadows. Their wings brush the camera with muffled strokes. Seems like a typical night. Maybe the app is buggy—that kind of thing can—</p><p>Her doorbell peals again while she’s watching the camera.</p><p>Rey stares, cold creeping into her fingertips. It has to be a glitch. There’s only one doorbell and the camera is definitely working. Short of a <em>ghost</em>…</p><p>She sighs, frustrated with herself. Ghosts aren’t real. God—get a grip, Rey.</p><p> “Hello, Miss Niima.”</p><p>She leaps off her sofa, nearly knocking over the coffee table and just avoiding falling straight through it. Someone is sitting at her kitchen island shrouded in shadow, and she stares with wide eyes, heart pounding. Oh no. Should’ve taken that concealed carry course.</p><p>The stranger doesn’t move. He tilts his head, tongue clicking.</p><p> “Don’t look so surprised, dear,” he calls. “You <em>do </em>owe me a debt.”</p><p>He snaps his fingers, and the lights come on.</p><p>It’s him—it’s the antique shop owner. His name evades her for a moment but comes soon enough: Kylo, the man who loaned her the typewriter. He’s wearing the same black turtleneck he was three years ago and has the same faint amused smile, long fingers clasped on the island.</p><p>Rey stares blankly. She was supposed to give the typewriter back.</p><p>Kylo raises his eyebrows when she fails to respond to him. He looks around her kitchen, pursing his lips. The refrigerator hums.</p><p> “Well this is lovely. Very tasteful.” He nods and squints at her new range. “I do like these little pleasantries mortals surround themselves with. I suppose it makes your existence a hair more tolerable, hm?”</p><p>She still doesn’t answer. Fear creeps up her nape like icy spindly fingers. Mortals? How did he get in her house? What <em>is </em>he?</p><p>Kylo sighs and shrugs, shifting out of his chair. He moves gracefully like he floats, entirely at ease even though the kitchen looks too small for him. He’s big. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Pale. The more she watches him, the more inhuman he appears.</p><p> “But you’re all quite the same in the end,” he continues with a bored roll of his eyes. “Selfish and greedy little rats.”</p><p> “I’m—I’m sorry,” Rey rasps.</p><p> “Mhm.”</p><p>She swallows, anxiety squeezing her throat. He ambles throughout her kitchen.</p><p> “You can have it back,” she says hastily. “I’ll even give you some money.”</p><p> “I have no need for money or other earthly valuables.” He draws his long thick fingers along the edge of the counter as he meanders along. His footsteps echo. “I’ve come here to collect my typewriter—with interest—and my half of our deal.”</p><p> “…W-What deal?”</p><p>Burning pain jolts up Rey’s left forearm. She yelps, stumbling into the coffee table again before falling on the couch clutching her arm.</p><p>Black letters in a foreign language slowly melt through the thin skin, glowing bright red as they appear. They burn terribly and Rey grits her teeth to hold back a scream—then they fade just as suddenly as they appeared, leaving her skin untouched.</p><p>She pants in terror, afraid to sit up and look at Kylo. Holy <em>shit</em>. Holy shit—this is—</p><p> “You’ve owed me my typewriter since… oh, I would say just after when I sent Finn to keep an eye on you and your first deal was signed. That brings us to seven hundred and one days of interest, considering the two year anniversary of that deal is in twenty-nine days.”</p><p>His footsteps move languidly across the hardwood. Rey squeezes her eyes shut, lower lip quivering. This cannot be real. She just had bad tea or something.</p><p>Hands grasp her bare feet. She jerks upright to find Kylo sitting at the other end of the couch, and she immediately falls off in her haste to escape.</p><p>He smiles. “There’s no need to run, dear. I’ll follow you wherever you decide to go.”</p><p> “You—You stay away from me!” Rey hisses. “I don’t know what you mean about Finn or what you just did to me, but—”</p><p> “Finn has been providing tireless surveillance. His name isn’t <em>Finn</em>, by the by, but I unfortunately cannot tell you his real name.” Kylo’s smiles stretches further, unnaturally contorting his face. “After all: a name is all we demons have.”</p><p>Rey scrambles to her feet and races for the door.</p><p>It won’t open. She tries the lock twice before feeling Kylo following her, and when she looks back he <em>is </em>following, peering around the hall corner with his bestial smile. Laughter chases her upstairs to the bathroom, where she slams the door shut and backs away, heart pounding.</p><p> “Oh Rey…” whispers Kylo’s unnerving soft voice. “You have nowhere to run.”</p><p>Black goo oozes under the door. Rey covers her mouth and keeps backpedaling as a myriad of bright red eyes roll open, smattered through the ooze with matching sets of bright white fangs curved into grins. It slithers toward her and she screams.  </p><p> “And you have nowhere to hide.”</p><p>She runs toward the window but finds it won’t open. Terrified, Rey tries smashing it with her bare fists but her arms are dragged and twisted behind her—and she is frozen.</p><p>Nothing will move. She can barely blink. She stares wide-eyed out the window as strange wet squelches move behind her.</p><p>Then—there’s a presence there. She strains her eyes trying to see before squeezing them shut at a soft shushing murmur in her ear.</p><p> “I’ve been considering your punishment, and how you’ll repay me with interest.” Fingers alight on Rey’s hip. “Your soul isn’t valuable enough to cover such enormous expenses, but I think several years of collecting <em>other </em>souls for me may suffice.”</p><p>Collecting souls? How?</p><p>Kylo sidles closer, nudging her temple with his long nose. His hand winds around to her stomach.</p><p> “Additionally…” His pinkie worms under the hem of her shirt and Rey whimpers. “You’re going to be my personal little pet for the rest of your natural born life—and perhaps after, if I enjoy your services.”</p><p>His cold palm presses to her bare stomach. Rey shivers until he draws away, releasing her from the bonds.</p><p>Her chest is tight. The bathroom door groans open on its own and Kylo waits near it, head cocked, slim smile on. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. Demons aren’t real and neither are ghosts and Finn is <em>human</em>…</p><p>She fights back tears. “What do you mean by… by…?”</p><p> “Don’t worry—you don’t have to kill anyone. You’ll just lure them to my shop and I’ll do the rest.”</p><p> “…What about…?”</p><p>His unrelenting gaze makes her unable to finish the question. <em>Pet</em>—what does that mean? Is she like a dog to him? Or is it… different?</p><p> “There’s no need to concern yourself with that, pet.” Kylo’s dark eyes flicker red but he doesn’t flinch; doesn’t blink. “Just use your sweet little face to bring me one soul per month, and I’ll handle the rest.”</p><p>Tears well up. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”</p><p>He smiles wider, fingers poised to snap. Rey’s heart skips a beat.</p><p> “You’ll see.”</p><p>He snaps, and everything goes black.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rey wakes in her own bed.</p><p>She sits bolt upright, gasping in terror, kicking off her sheets in a hurry. It’s morning and the windows are open, birds singing, breeze blowing. All is silent for a minute or two while she catches her breath and scans the empty bedroom.</p><p>Last night had to have been a nightmare—she’s strung out from all the late nights. Burning the candle at both ends. Maybe Finn will be up for a little trip before the wedding; somewhere nearby, but far enough to feel like a getaway.</p><p>Rey steps out of bed to find her phone. Usually she keeps it on the nightstand but a thorough search doesn’t turn up anything, so she hurries to her master bath to look there. Anxiety prickles up her nape. She’s not scared or anything. It’s… a cold morning. And it’s been a long night.</p><p>Doing her morning routine is a good distraction for an hour or so. Rey shrugs off her missing phone and does just that instead, showering and washing her face and brushing her teeth.</p><p>The phone has to be here somewhere. She could’ve left it in the office next to the typewriter.</p><p>She closes her bedroom windows before walking downstairs to check, arms folded over her chest. The house is abnormally cold this morning. Quiet. Usually there is some degree of groaning or settling but today there’s nothing, like it’s resting on the edge of a knife. Like it’s waiting.</p><p>Rey rounds the corner into her kitchen.</p><p>Kylo is seated at the island reading a newspaper, steaming mug of coffee on a coaster. He’s wearing glasses low on his long nose and he peers over them at Rey, fixating her with his blood red gaze.</p><p>Her blood runs cold. She’s rooted to the spot.</p><p>He searches her face wordlessly for a minute, then blinks, and his eyes turn dark like she remembers. He’s dressed in a nice navy sweater and dark pants, wearing a watch, black hair parted neatly. It looks like he’s about to go to work.</p><p>Rey stares as Kylo sets his paper down and places his glasses on top. He folds his hands on the table, then smiles, slim and disarming.</p><p> “Good morning,” he says. “How did you sleep?”</p><p>This doesn’t make sense. Don’t demons drag people to hell? Why is she still home—why is he here reading the paper?</p><p>He raises his eyebrows imploringly. Rey swallows and tries to speak but her tongue is thick and heavy.</p><p> “I haven’t slept in some time,” Kylo continues. He rises from his seat and Rey twitches but her limbs don’t cooperate. “Unfortunate side effect of immortality.”</p><p>Something tight squeezes Rey’s throat at that moment and she coughs, stumbling back a couple steps as she’s freed from her invisible bonds. But there’s something around her <em>neck</em>, and when she reaches up to pull on it she touches cold metal.</p><p>It’s a collar, she realizes. Ice runs down her fingertips and up her arms. It’s a collar, and she still can’t talk.</p><p>Kylo approaches and she staggers into an end table, screaming on instinct—but nothing comes out. She slaps a hand away when he reaches out, panicking and falling on her ass in the hallway. She crawls quickly backwards as he smiles and follows.</p><p> “Where are you going, Pet?” he coos. “I’m going to be very gentle.”</p><p>Rey scrambles for the front door and is hurled against it. She gasps, air flattened from her lungs so violently that she’s left dizzy and disoriented.</p><p>She turns, cowering at the sight of Kylo looming a couple of feet away, hands at his sides. Her heart pounds and his smile slowly widens to the edge of his cheek, contorting his face into an unnatural shape.</p><p> “I’m going to very… gentle,” he repeats, deep voice rising to a high pitch and dropping to a guttural growl.</p><p>Rey paws blindly at the door handle behind her as he comes closer. It jiggles but doesn’t turn—she can run upstairs but that’s just where he wants her.</p><p>She spins and pounds on the door with her fists until she feels his breath on her neck. Terrified, Rey bolts for the stairs.</p><p>She trips up a step, banging her knee to go with her sore backside, and Kylo pauses to let her regain her footing. His steps are languid and loud behind her as she races to the bedroom hoping to climb out a window. They’re big enough—she can get out on the roof and risk a broken ankle.</p><p>But her windows are closed from earlier, and they won’t budge when she tries them. She’s crying silently, only managing intermittent whimpers and sobs through her constricted throat. This isn’t real; this <em>can’t </em>be real—</p><p>Spindly cold creeps over her hips like spider legs and Rey jerks but can’t move. She squeezes her eyes shut when she hears a soft voice like crackling dead leaves.</p><p> “I’m going to be very gentle,” he whispers.</p><p>Her room plunges into darkness.</p><p>Rey can’t flail or resist as she’s dragged to her bed and splayed on her back. Her voice still doesn’t work and her arms only slightly cooperate as Kylo moves on top of her. It’s hard to tell if he does. She can’t see and it’s so cold that she doesn’t want to move.</p><p>Then he rolls her to her stomach, cooing at her panicked breaths. Her wide eyes search the room.</p><p> “Shh… Shh…” Kylo slides her pants off and leans forward to idly unbutton her top, lingering when he reaches her breasts. “I prefer my pets stay quiet.”</p><p>He brushes her nipple and Rey stiffens. His touch is light and gentle and he only gropes her for a few moments before he finishes removing her top. She’s bent forward with her ass up in a very compromising and humiliating position, and she winces when he strokes along her ribs with his fingertips.</p><p> “And motionless,” he adds. His hand slides over her ass and squeezes. “And I’ve made all those things very easy for you, haven’t I?”</p><p>Rey is helpless, fingers twitching near the headboard when Kylo runs his fingers down the back of her thigh. Goosebumps prickle up her arms as his hand dips between her legs, stroking lightly—she can’t move or make a sound and it makes her pulse pound harder.</p><p>Kylo stimulates her gently. He’s rhythmic and patient and she feels his breath against her scalp.</p><p> “Oh… isn’t that lovely?” he whispers. His middle finger lingers in torturous light circles around her clit. “Oh, <em>oh</em>—aren’t you lovely, Pet?”</p><p>His tone makes her skin crawl. Her hips won’t move so she has to endure his torment with no hope of release or escape, listening to the wet sound of her body betraying her.</p><p>Kylo eases a finger inside her, shushing her as he adds a second a moment later. He pumps them gently back and forth and Rey whines, fingers twitching. Oh god. Everything is tensing up but she’s nowhere near climax, just <em>tight</em>, like a ball of anxiety. Overstimulated.</p><p> “Oh, my impatient little one.” Fingers slip free and he eases her hips down. “You want more, hm?”</p><p>She can’t shake her head. Her wide eyes snap shut at the hot pressure of his cock against her entrance, teasing, then <em>pushing</em>—</p><p>Kylo exhales sharply. “Nice and warm.”</p><p>It’s cold. Unnatural. Her stomach twists in nauseated knots as Kylo guides himself inside her, sliding in, fitting his hips to her ass. He makes a couple gentle thrusts and settles his weight across her back so she’s pinned and her heart pitter-patters pathetically.</p><p>He rolls his hips rhythmic and slow and that makes it harder to bear. He kisses her bare shoulder and her hair and her sobs are lodged in her throat. He’s suffocating her, she thinks.</p><p> “Soon you’ll learn to stay quiet and still for me without any help.” His breathing isn’t even slightly disturbed while he languidly fucks her, and Rey rattles a gasp. “Shh, shh. Your heart is already beating so fast, little one. Just relax.”</p><p>But it’s impossible with him crushing her and the tender way Kylo is fucking her. She swallows and strains and manages a cry.</p><p> “Shh…” He kisses her temple. Her eyes roll back. “None of that. Be a good pet.”</p><p>Rey is semi-conscious when he comes inside her. His breathing only picks up a bit but she feels the twitch of his cock inside her, and he presses close. He lingers once again, leaving uncomfortably intimate kisses on her neck and shoulder.</p><p>He’s suffocating her, she thinks. The dark room swirls inward and Kylo grows heavier—then her ears ring, and she slips into unconsciousness.</p>
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